


Little Flames

by LaughingMcNugget



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, I keep catching typos, If you catch them let me know and i'll fix them, Immortality, Kind of a comtinuation of The Dragon, Km going to be editing this for the next few days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 07:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6414106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingMcNugget/pseuds/LaughingMcNugget
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Indulgent, fluffy, smutty revisitation of the good mayor. Mostly because I felt bad after The Dragon. So yeah, some minor spoilers for the BoS and Railroad endings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Flames

When Hancock stepped through his door, hat barely held aloft by fingers ready to cast it aside, he was expecting the dim light and cool night air that usually swirled around the smoke and whiskey scented room. A warm yellow glow was cast about the décor, shimmering off the old red velvet and well worn walnut wood that made up his personal quarters. Candles, huh, Far must have felt restless and went to the Diamond City market today, strange that she would pick up so many. Almost set a romantic air about the place, heh, all it needed was the wine and someone to romance. It was nice, though, the tiny dancing flames took the edge off the winter chill. Maybe he’d be able to sleep fitfully and in his preferred dress; nothing but a glaze of jet around his mouth. He let out a contented sigh, only to make a quisical sound on the inhale. Something smelling like sugar was mingling with the usual smoky musk; bubblegum, he realized belatedly in his drugged stupor, and smacked his mouth once to see if he’d been chewing a stick and somehow had forgoten. When all he tasted was the sweet, warm air, a heavy and hairless brow quirked as bleary black eyes adjusted to the lighting. The floor was… oddly free of used jet containers, empty tins of mentats, even the old chess set was righted with the game still set. A maid? Oh no no no, Far knew he wasn’t into that kind of bullshit. If he was a messy man, he would be a messy man and live with his decisions to be messy. He would not laze about and make some poor, caps-starved sap work their fingers to the bone dealing with his shit. The huff he let out stirred something on the bed, and weary eyes lifted to the velvet spread. 

  
“Mister Mayor, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

  
Oh, but he’d love to work something else to the bone. Namely working his hand on his... bone. Hancock knew the quiet voice, and a vision of soft grey smoke cascading from reddened and smirking lips played over the barely lit room, all questions of the state of cleanliness gone. In spite of a rather foggy feeling about the entirety if his brain, he made a mental note to find out who the supplier was for that last batch of berry mentats that came in; the high induced hallucination was… beautiful….

  
As in bare breasted and bold red hair beautiful. Lit cigarette and bubblegum liquor blush beautiful. Honey gold eyes and round thighs beautiful. Beautiful like the vision of Nicole stretched out languidly on his velvet bedspread. Beautiful like the past few months worth of phycho fueled fantasies playing out in vivid detail. Hancock laughed a self loathing note, eyes flicking down to match the sudden frown on his lips.

  
“Dammit, promised myself I’d stop thinking ‘bout you like this, y’know?” he reached for the knot on his belt, hat falling from his fingers “Can’t be lusting after my friends. Not you, y’deserve better n’that.” His voice was slurred around the taste of mentats and the smell bubblegum syrup in vodka.

  
The vision didn’t move aside from a sweet smile that glinted in the ash light of her cigarette and the wax candles burning in mentats tins. Hancock could have grinned to himself, hand reaching for a hat no longer on his head to tip, before he simply nodded at the fallacy of his friend: what a thoughtful hallucination to be mindful of the dripping wax.

  
“But shit, drugs were invented for indulgences like this. Just look at you… damn.” a sigh, thick with hesitation, and low with arousal.

  
His belt fell almost silently to the floor, left strewn without a care. He would clean it up later, not the damn maid or whatever. Then the red coat, shoulders shrugging and stretching, knowing he could peacock what little he had all he wanted for the hallucination. It wouldnt remember, so rhere was no need to feel ashamed of the scars marring his flesh. No reason to feel abashed for his scrawny body that only ever held lovers for a night. The vision spread her legs _for him_ , and Hancock took in the sight, pants suddenly far too tight over the crotch. But the show must go on, the ghoul decided with a smile that boasted his showman's air. The blue vest slacked and sagged gold button by undone gold button. A faint laugh, wispy and goading, brushing past what was left of his ears as though she were breathing smoke across his face made his fingers tremble on the decorative clasps. She still remained in the same position, an arm behind her head, the other clutching her preferred brand of cigarette that he kept stocked just in case. Honey green eyes were alight from the candles and the speck of burning ember just inches from plump lips. The smoke about her collar lingered, as though she wore it like a lavish pearl necklace. The ghoul watched, a pause in his stripping, as the smoke interacted with her skin. It fell down the dip of her cleavage like a caress and for gods sake, he wished it were his hands, or his tongue, or his lips kissing down the maze of scars and soft looking caramel cream curves. A needy noise sounded in his throat, and Hancock slipped a hand in his pants, looking over the vision with hungry, desperate eyes and fingers rubbing over the spot _-that spot-_ her tongue had found the last time he’d seen her. God it was like she was there, the sights, the sounds, all a brilliant hallucination. It was blissful to have her smell surrounding him, the bubblegum vodka, and hubflower soap in her hair. The red sheen of her dyed crest seemed to be alight on the bedspread and the color of her lips shone enticigly in the low light, all so realisticly. She looked as though she were metal licked with flames, glowing and molten in a mold made to look like a goddess, maleable to the touch and blazing beneath the surface. He whined, high and needy as he worked himself. A curious look had crossed her eyes, pupils tighter now as they flicked from his hand to his face and hand retreating back to the ashtray to tap the spent ash from her cigarette.

  
“Take it off. All of it.”

  
God Hancock missed her bossing him around, even if the power went to her head sometimes; ‘ _Can you hold this for me, John?’ ‘You need the sleep more than I do, lay down.’ ‘Get up on the bed, John, you’ve been sleeping on the floor long enough.’_ He closed his eyes with a touch of buttersweet reminiscence _‘You can sleep with me, you know. I know you’ve been having nightmares.’_ She had pat the thin mattress beside her, and he all but froze in place, hands wringing the frilled and frayed edges of his frock. That was a good night’s rest, perhaps the best since bcame, well, who he is.

  
A purposefully cleared throat brought him back to the dimly lit room, to the sugary sweet smell, and the faintest sound of something suckling and wet. Black eyes dully peeked out from behind his lids, to find the vision with three fingers tucked in the dark brown curls between her legs, pupils blown wide and expectant, cigarette smoking in her free hand and excited breaths blanketing her in thin clouds. "Let me see you, John”

  
The ghoul all but purred, only she got to call him that because only she knew him well enough. Only she had his radioactive little heart wrapped around her finger and tugged it roughly every time she said his name like that. The hallucination was shockingky lifelike, and Hancock felt himself being tugged along by a woman who wasn't really there. The harndess in his palm slipped away as he withdrew from his trousers, hands busing themselves with the blue vest once again. The final button snapped open and fell across his ribs and laid loosely on his shoulders. With the fabric no longer clinging tightly to his sinewy frame, rather boosting his assets, he felt a flicker of doubt cross the front of his mind. The vest fell to the floor, and now only the thin white undershirt remained; stuck to his marred skin by sweat and nearly seethrough. Much like a drowned mole rat, he suspected, is what he looked like. A terrifying, black eyed, emaciated mole rat playing dress up and getting high every day of his life. God, he looked sickly, frail, noting like the man she'd want, no wonder she chose the tinca-

  
The vision moaned, musically, back arching and smoke falling from her lips “You're beautiful.”

  
The urge to tear off the shirt, lose his pants in the scramble up the bedspread and destroy the illusion by passing a hand through her in an attempt to _touch_ nearly overwhelmed the mayor. Beautiful- nobody had called him beautiful since he became a ghoul, nobody but her on that one drunken night under the stars. That one night where they pushed boundaries too far and she had to leave him behind to stay loyal to her partner. And damn him, he wished for days that she’d betray her lover. The fucking pig, how _dare_ he.

  
“Take it off, John. Let me see you.”

  
He bit back the loathed memories of weaker times, surrendering himself to yet another sinful indulgence that would haunt him along with the others. Hancock forewent the buttons on his undershirt, grabbing the collar behind his neck and lifting it up over his head. The little moan she let out as the shirt slid halfway up his body spurred him on. Big black eyes eyes still obscured by the fabric, him grinning loosely, and tugging faster to leer at the perfect hallucination again. The vision of Cole had both arms crossed at the wrists and stretched to rest atop the headboard, cigaretre smoking in the ashtry on his nightstand. She looked soft, marred; hardened by years in the ‘Wealth, yet the slightest chub preserved as though it were an artifact of another time. She always did complainabout never being able to lose weight. But God, she couldnt be more besutiful if she tried. Maybe he'd take another hit before the image faded, extend the vision just long enough for him to get off and fall asleep staring into those pretty eyes, or ghosting his hands around curves that weren’t truly spread on his bed.

  
“Jesus…” the shirt fell with a damp slap against the worn wood floor. He... must have been sweating a lot... 

  
“I could say the same thing.”

  
Fuck his restraint, fuck the self loathing, fuck him for falling for a friend who was taken and fuck him for wanting to fuck her like a damn animal. Hancock popped the button on his pants and let them fall to the floor, fully exposed aside from the fabric pooled around his ankles. A little twitch had his wrist covering himself, only for a moment. Its not like the real deal hadn't seen him before, why would this be any different? Hancock let himself stroke down his length, rolling his hips and watching the vision as she watched him.

  
The hallucination gave a light and airy laugh, back stretching and red hair fluttering over honey green eyes “I knew you went commando. I just knew it.”

  
He smiled, bashful, lusty, maybe lovelorn in his influenced state; but for the first time in a long time, comfortable in his skin while in the presence of another. “God, I love your laugh.”  
It couldn’t hurt him to be honest now, not like he could be hurt with the real deal.

  
“Come on.”

  
Hancock’s marred hands caught him when he clawed up the bed, resting his knees between her legs with a hand beside each thigh. He definitely needed to find out the secret ingredient in that last batch, because he could swear he felt her warmth across his skin, radiating as though she were the damn sun. All in a moment, the reserve and restraint to hold himself burst like a dam, and the ghoul curled forward to wallow in the vision’s skin. This had to be the last time. No matter how much he'd like to revisit the memory.

It had to end, finally getting some damn self admission to bury along with any hope the high migh have acrounged up “I love a lot of things about you. I'm just too much of a damn coward to say it to your face.”

  
His palms connected, warm and soft flesh against his finger pads. The vision didn’t fall apart, his hands not phasing into the illusion, chems not morphing her into something hideous and disfigured or gory; just warm skin and a pleased note hummed out her nose. It took the ghoul a moment, rubbing his palm up and down the curve of her waist experimentally. Skin. Bones. Muscle. That delightful pudge around her hips. They were all real.

  
“John, are you okay?”

  
The urge to cry, to run and hide, and the urge to bundle her tightly against his chest combatted with one another as Hancock was left staring blankly where his hand met her flesh “You… aren’t a mentats hallucination?”

  
Her body rose to meet him, chest warm against his and hands gentle over his shoulders. Oh god, she was real. She said she'd come back for more, and god he'd give it to her. He pressed a kiss to the joint of her neck and shoulder and blew out a breath he'd held for far too long.

  
“Why are you here?”

  
She kissed him then, legs curling around his waist like an invitation “Long story.”

  
“Will you tell me later?” Hancock shifted forward only slightly, lining himself up with her and relishing in her touch.

  
For a selfish second, he’d hoped Danse would vanish without a trace, and leave her, hopefully, with him. For all he knew, the synth might have. After all... he was the backup plan... Then she shifted, and the ghoul’s arms buckled while she took him in inch by scarred, overly sensitive inch. The ghoul felt her feet press against his thighs, almost stroking over the skin as she moved. Barely there lips pressed a feverish kiss to the thrum of her pulse, cheek tight against her neck and trembling arms working her slowly up and down his length. God, she felt blissful.

  
“Really you. S’Really-“ his voice was muted by a soft brush of lips and the faintest scrape of skin on skin.

His eyes flickered closed, and he decided he liked the sound of his ruined skin on hers, the sound of  _them._  Their joining was quieter than he'd expected, but the silence only made the little noises all that much louder. Like that little hum she made in his ear, just above a breath, a lewd moan might have made him miss that, and the things it did for him was worth holding his tongue.

She pushed him forward, sitting on his lap and holding his jaw in her hands. Her thumbs brushed over his cheekbones and dipped against the marred skin there. There were, in spite of the unbelievable pleasure, tears of pain in his eyes “You’re just gonna leave again. Gonna go back t’him at the end of the night just like last time.” something greedy inside the mayor had his hands wrap around her shoulders "I can't do this again if that's how it is."

  
“John, how long have you been chasing this high? Did you even get my letter?"

  
With an undignified sniffle, the ghoul dragged her down entirely, vainly wishing to keep her pinned to his chest for as long he could, maybe all his life if she’d let him “Maybe three weeks? And...letter?"

She laughed, something darker, sadder about it, but still that laugh that made his head spin "There is no going back, John. The Railroad they... The Prydwen is gone. Something came to light and we blew the damn thing up. Danse won’t even talk to me again, said so himself, the bastard.” She clenched her hands tightly, and made the ghoul look her in the eye “And that’s perfectly fine, what matters is that he's safe. Synths are safe. Ghouls are safe. _You're safe_.”

  
Hancock was stiff in her grasp, sobered up as much as he could be at the moment “So. That’s how it went down. What made you change your mind?”

  
“I... am a synth… Goddamn courser expiriment left to die by my ow- by the real Nicole's son. I only found out because I took the tape from Quinlan before he discovered it.”

  
Hancock stilled, so much to take in at once had effectively killed the mood. The Prydwen and its immediate threat gone in a glory blaze? Danse pouting for the rest of his immortal life? Her clinging to him with news of her own fucked up immortality? God, what had she done to deserve that kind of heartbreak. First Nate, and Shaun. Now danse and her own damn identity. Karma, Hancock decided with a baffled huff against her shoulder, was absolute bull. 

"Maxson said he wanted to storm Goodneighbor. Rid the Commonwealth of sentient ghouls and chem adicts once and for all. Something about eliminating future ferals. That’s why I took the holotape. I-I wanted to take Deacon up on his offer to save the whole ‘Wealth from that maniac. I thought i could stop him from going so far. I guess in the end i did-“ Nicole suppressed a growl, stroking over Hancock’s scalm with her free hand, something possessive spurring her to press him closer “-I shot that Maxson bastard in his damned face. Took his pompus coat and blew the ship to Hell. Right where they belong.”

  
“Is this you celebrating the liberation of ghouls ‘n synths across the 'Wealth, or do yo-“  
His thin lips were captured, mercilessly, and he groaned into the feral kiss. All resignation gone, the fear of her leaving for another vanished in an instant “-want t’make this long term?”

  
“Celebrating. For now. But I could be convinced in time.”

  
A lopsided smirk broke Hancock’s thin lips, black eyes half lidded and reflecting the dancing candlelight “You’re killin’ me Sunshine. But if that’s the case then you do you. I’ve got the time to wait."

   
She returned the smirk, little twitches of her hips earning her a hum of contentment “I’ll be counting the days.”

"Hopefully not too many." 

**Author's Note:**

> Well I hope you guys were ready for your daily dose of MEDIOCRE PORN


End file.
